


In the Night

by ikkiM



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Lover Not Quite Boned, Mildly Dubious Consent, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/pseuds/ikkiM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime/Brienne fic fills my head.  This is just a bit of smut without plot.  It's not supposed to read non consensual, but it can be interpreted as questionable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Night

Jaime’s hand liked to wander in his sleep. Brienne would wake in the night to find his hand on her hip, or under her tunic splayed across her bare stomach. They’d been sharing a bedroll since the death of Lady Stoneheart and their escape from the Brotherhood. She’d sent Pod and Hyle on their way. She couldn’t put them at risk again. She had to find Sansa Stark on her own.

That didn’t explain why Jaime hadn’t gone back to Riverrun. He told her it was his oath and he planned to keep it. She didn’t complain. She was exhausted and lonely and frightened. In the night it was cold and Brienne appreciated his warmth. She’d once woken to find his hand cupping her bare left breast. Each time his hand wandered, she’d pull it gently away and link her fingers through his. She’d even started clasping his hand when they lay down to sleep. He had raised his eyebrow and chuckled at that, but she just rolled on her side away from him, pulling his hand so his arm wrapped around her waist.

\--

Every night he thought to himself that he would stop, but then he would smell the dried sweat on her skin, the dirt of the road and the pure Brienne of her. It was a scent for a blushing maid, not a warrior taller and stronger than most men. In the daylight, she would never let him touch her. She drew back whenever their fingers would brush. She’d not even wanted him to examine her wounds. In the daylight, she was a prickly wench.

In the night, when they lay huddled together for warmth, he would wait until her breathing steadied and he would touch her. At first it was just curiosity. He would place his mouth and nose just at the back of her neck and breathe her in. He wanted to kiss her neck. To see if the skin there was soft. To taste her freckles. One night, he slipped his hand under her tunic to caress the skin of her waist. It was surprisingly soft and smooth. If he ran his finger across her ribs, she would flinch. She’d woken once when he’d dipped his finger into her navel.

It had become a game to him, to see how much of her he could touch before she’d wake. He didn’t know when it had started making his cock hard. It probably always had. He wanted to press his hips against her backside, let her feel him. He knew that if he did that, she’d separate their bedrolls. Every few days, he’d escape alone into the woods to relieve himself, pretending to think about Cersei. His thoughts always returned to the same fantasy, that instead of removing his hand from her and entwining their fingers, Brienne would arch into his touch, call out his name.

\--

Brienne was used to the nightmares. Since Renly’s death, all of her dreams had been terrifying. She dreamed of shades, of being held down, of Jaime’s screams, of Biter, of Rorge, of Lady Stoneheart. Since Jaime killed the Lady and they’d fled from the Brotherhood, her dreams had changed. Her dreams were of soft touches and longing. She dreamt of Jaime in the baths at Harrenhal, only he would be well and strong. She dreamt of kissing the soft hair on his chest. She dreamt of him washing her back, then her breasts, then soaping the hair between her thighs.

She’d wake to find Jaime’s hand upon her. His hand was always still, but she could feel it tight against her flesh. She’d woken once to find his hand inside her breeches, his smallest finger just inside her small clothes. She thought she should sleep apart from him, but she didn’t want to give up this little piece of Jaime. In the daylight, he was Cersei’s lover. In the night, she could pretend he was hers.

\--

Eleven days since they’d fled the Brotherhood and they found an inn, a real bed to sleep in, a bed to share.

He stripped to his breeches and climbed in beside her, pulling up the covers to their necks. Her hand reached for his and laced their fingers as she pulled his arm so his wrist would rest on her waist. He laughed softly against the back of her neck. He listened as her breathing slowed and deepened. Her grip on his hand slackened. She shifted in her sleep to press her shoulder against his bare chest. He ran his fingers from the top of her shoulder down her arm. She shifted slightly closer to him. He slid his hand across her waist and down her stomach across the top of her breeches.

In the night, he knew her body so well that he could tell just from her intake of breath if she was awake or asleep or dreaming. Her skin felt warmer when she dreamed. He bent his knee and nudged it between her thighs, using his hand to pull her hips back against him. Her legs parted slightly and he used the opening to slip his leg between hers. He traced his fingers up the skin under her tunic to clasp her breast. He wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep without the feel of her beside him.

\--

She woke with a start from her dream. Another dream of Jaime. Her dreams left her aching with need. His hand was on her breast, her hard nipple brushing against his palm. Her mind clouded and all she wanted was to rub herself against his thigh, feel his hand fondle her breast. She had to get out of the bed, but she was pressed between Jaime and the wall. She pulled his hand from her breast and tried to move his leg from between hers.

“Jaime.” She whispered.

He tried to pull his hand from hers.

“Jaime.” Louder this time.

He rolled onto his back, but kept his leg between hers, dragging her so she was laying half on top of him. She sat up, causing her hip to press into his. She fumbled trying to push him towards the edge of the bed. She turned to straddle him so she could climb over him and out of the bed.

He stopped her with his hand on her thigh and laughed. “Wench, I know you like to wrap yourself around me in the night, but this,” he ran his hand over her ass and his stump down her leg, “is going to lead somewhere I’m not sure you want to go.”

Even in the dark he could tell she was blushing.

She scrambled up and out of the bed. “I do not, and I tried to wake you. I need to get up.” She paused. “And my name is Brienne.”

He laughed and rolled towards the wall to hide his straining cock. He didn’t think she’d felt it and if she had, he doubted she would have understood. He wanted to fuck her more than he had ever wanted anything. He heard her leave their room and waited for her to return. It seemed forever before she stumbled back into the room.

“Come back to bed. I’ve gotten cold without you.” He lifted the covers.

“If you’re cold, put on a shirt. I’m going to rest here on the floor.”

“We walk for how many days, sleep outside for how many nights and we finally get a bed and you want to sleep on the floor? Don’t be ridiculous, Brienne. Save your blushes and get in this bed. Now.” Rarely did he try to command her. It seldom worked. “Come on. Come back to bed. I’ll not tease you when you hold my hand in your sleep.” He cajoled her.

“I only clasp your hand to keep it from..” She stopped abruptly, acutely aware of what she was about to reveal.

“From what, wench? Keep my hand from what?” The mockery was back.

“Shut up, Jaime.” She climbed back into the bed such that he was against the wall. She turned her back to him and hugged the very edge of the bed. He grunted and turned his back to her.

\--

It was the third night since the inn and they had found an abandoned cottage. They were a day’s walk from the Bloody Gate and it had started to snow.

She had gathered firewood while Jaime searched the cottage for food. She’d found a crossbow in the stable and came back with fresh game. He’d found a few onions and potatoes growing in the cellar. Until the snow let up, they wouldn’t be able to go much further on foot. They had enough provisions for a few days.

They made a pallet on the floor in front of the fire using their bedrolls and some of the blankets they had found. Brienne lay down and fell asleep shortly after they ate. Jaime fed the fire and lay down beside her. It was in the night that he most wished for two hands. She rolled from her side to her back and murmured something in her sleep. He propped himself up on his elbow so he could watch her face in the firelight. He rarely got to see her face in the night.

He traced his fingers along her hard flat stomach, then lifted her tunic to press his palm against her. There was no soft roundness to her belly. Brienne was all muscle and sinew. His hand drifted higher to just under her breasts. Her breathing changed. He could tell she was dreaming. He could feel her body responding to his touch.

He palmed her breast. He wanted to tweak her nipple, but knew that would wake her. She arched into his hand. Her thighs rubbed against one another. Gods but he wanted her. He pulled up her tunic so he could see her breasts, just nipples on a muscled chest really, but what peaks they were. Dusky rose and perfectly formed. Stiff under his touch. He bent his head and ran the tip of his tongue over one. She tasted like heaven. Her hips shifted. He moved his hand to the top of her breeches and began to unlace them.

He looked down at her, willing her eyes to open.

Brienne turned her face into his shoulder and breathed his name.

It felt like permission.

**Author's Note:**

> I have dozens of fanfics in my head for this pairing, but don't have the will (or time) to finish them. So why not a little bit of smut?
> 
> Please let me know if you find any grammar errors or typos. A person can only proof so many times.


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